Wilted
by SpazzChicken
Summary: Before Sparrow rises to fame, before Lucien is killed, and before a wish changes the world--Albion is in crisis. And one citizen is taking things into her hands with the help of a mysterious machine found in her cellar. Warnings: slash
1. Chapter 1

A new story from me! :D

Set in Fable 2, the proper plot will begin with the resurrection of a Hero. But for this chapter, enjoy the overly cheerful Arden and her friend Devon.

**Warning**--this story will contain m/m slash (as in two males in a non-platonic relationship), so if that bothers you, turn around now. Thanks. :)

--+--

It was difficult at first. Waking up, that is.

Darkness kept pulling, tugging, at him, telling him to fall back asleep. Biting cold enclosed his body and made him want the warmth of darkness so much more. There was some wiser part of him that begged him to stay as he was, to release the faint thread pulling him out of the dark, out of the comfort of a numb mind.

But the other part only wanted him to open his eyes. And so he did.

He knew that was a mistake as soon as that blinding light hit his face.

--+--

In the basement of the decrepit mansion in Bowerstone Cemetery, resides a mysterious machine. A machine once used then partially disassembled so none could use it again. So there were no worries when a new family moved in, for who would find the machine and be able to both divine its purpose and put it back in working order?

Surely the machine was safe to rust in peace.

--+--

Whistling, as she often did when in a particularly good mood, Arden fairly bounced down the road leading into Bowerstone Market from FairFax Gardens. Her peasant clothes – in good condition, if a bit worn – made it obvious that she was not a visiting Fairfax resident. As, no doubt, did the unruly reddish hair lazily pulled behind her ears. No, the girl hadn't come from Fairfax Gardens, rather from the cemetery beyond – the cemetery in which her home resided.

Her father had taken up the grave keeping job and the house to go with it. The change of homes and atmosphere (from living in the Market to living in a Cemetery is a rather drastic change) might have been disturbing to most, but Arden couldn't have been a happier girl. Truly, the new home was more than she could have asked for – what other house hid such wonderful surprises?

One particular surprise had her rushing to Bowerstone Market to gush over it to her dearest—only, if truth be told—friend.

Arden stopped her whistling in favor of a giant grin as she spotted the familiar sign of thread and scissors over the tailor's shop. Her friend would no doubt be hunched over some delicate piece of threadwork, nimble fingers pulling beauty from dull cloth. Stopping in the street for a moment, Arden pulled her blouse sleeves down over her lightly freckled arms. She knew how picky the tailor's apprentice—her friend—was about her clothing. It was probably the reason he was constantly sewing her new clothes.

"Devon! I have news!" Happily stepping through the doorway, Arden stopped in mid-step to appreciate her accurate prediction of her friend's activity.

Devon's dark hair, despite the oil used to slick the dark mess into something approaching professional, was hanging in front of the boy's squinted eyes. His wide shoulders were hunched over his work: a tiny glove, slowly taking on a border of delicate flowers along its bottom edge. Though Devon was fairly lanky in frame, the slight bulges of muscle visible under his thick shirt made the sight of him working on something so delicate hilarious. The boy spared Arden a smile and quick glance.

"Good morning, Arden. What news?"

Fully stepping into the shop and hopping up to sit on the counter, Arden let her grin spread further. "I have discovered probably the most important device in the history of Albion! Excited, yet?"

"Mm, very." He carefully laid his work aside to face Arden, his expression half amused. "Where did you find it?"

"I wasn't going through people's cellars again, if that's what you're asking." Arden folded her arms in mock offense. Honestly, once one is caught digging through cellars just _one_ time, the reputation for it never fades. "But I did find it in a cellar," she looked down sheepishly. "Ah, but in _my_ cellar, this time. Who would have thought anything so magnificent was hiding in that mess of a house?"

She jumped off the counter, unable to keep still for long, and made expansive hand gestures. "Oh, you should see it, it's so beautiful! Absolutely crowded with sprockets and screws and bolts and things I've only ever heard of before! And," she paused to shoot Devon her most dazzling smile, "it's going to change the world! I just know it!"

"So what is it?"

The girl leaned forward to whisper as quietly as her excited mood allowed, "A machine that defies death. Come to my house tonight and you'll see for yourself."

Calmly, without a trace of disbelief or confusion, Devon took up his needlework again. "I better work fast, then, if I'm going to be done by a reasonable hour. Should I eat before coming over?"

Arden waved the question away, "Doesn't matter. Just come as soon as you can, alright? It's really spectacular – just wait!"

With that, the girl danced out the door as swiftly as she had come in, and her whistling could soon be heard retreating down the street.

Devon pretended to work on the tiny glove in his hands for a moment longer before his head fell forward onto his chest. Shoulders slumping, Devon sighed quietly. It seemed every time he saw his friend his heart wanted to jump out of his chest. Perhaps it would stop acting so insanely if he could just gather the courage needed to tell Arden how he felt.

Tell her that he cared for her and would be overjoyed if she would marry him.

Of course, Devon knew he was in no position to go around proposing to girls nearly five years younger than him. He – a boy without a proper house and living in a tavern. A boy still working as an apprentice without a decent income. And to top it off, the son of a gypsy whore with the dark skin to prove it.

Oh, yes, he _definitely_ sounded like the ideal husband.

Lifting his head, Devon aimed a light slap at his wrist to chase away his worry. He had gone over his worthlessness so many times since he realized his feelings for Arden—the endless loop of worry was not going to change anything. No, Devon knew he could only work harder, save his gold and hopefully raise his status to something approaching decent.

Someday… everything would work out. Until then, Devon had to be content to bide his time embroidering ladies' gloves in a quiet shop.

--+--

Night had fallen quite suddenly—as it often did in late fall—and Devon was left nearly running through the rows of silent tombstones. He hated running. No proper citizen would ever be found running except in an emergency. Though, perhaps the possibility of upsetting Arden could be considered an emergency?

He took a moment to catch his breath at the bottom of the steps leading to Arden's front door once he had finally reached the mansion. Well, Arden's family never referred to their home as a mansion—due to its barely habitable state—but Devon always paid the house its proper respect. Surely it had once been grand and—fate be kind—if it were to become his, it would be grand once more.

"Devon!" Arden leaned over the banister directly above Devon. "What are you doing out here? Don't you _want_ to see my amazing device? And I'm warning you," she waved a disapproving finger, "there is only one right answer to that question!"

Devon laughed softly, "Right away, my lady."

Arden nodded in satisfaction as her friend took the stairs two at a time to appease her. Almost sooner than the boy had stepped onto the landing opposite her, Arden was dragging Devon into the house and down the stairs to her basement and talking excitedly all the way.

"Now you're just absolutely going to be stunned by it! I know it! Maybe you don't think so right now, but _I know it_!"

Devon nearly collided with Arden as she stopped mid-step at the bottom of the cellar stairs. She released his sleeve and threw off the heavy canvas hiding the unimpressive casket-like thing Devon assumed was the 'amazing machine.'

"Isn't it beautiful?" The girl smiled gently as she stepped away from it and lit a light.

"I'm not an expert on these sorts of things…" Devon paused to carefully choose his next words. It wouldn't do to accidently say anything rude about something Arden apparently cared about a great deal. "It looks very complicated, and you've still managed to fix it?"

The girl smiled with evident pride, "Yes I did. Sure the schematics were right here," she motioned to the workbenches lining the walls, "but it was all very messy. And reading that chicken scratch was hard work."

"I'm sure--"

"Besides, obviously not everyone can figure out this kind of thing. I mean, if they could, these machines would be everywhere and no one would ever die!"

Devon had come closer and was looking at the thing skeptically—if the machine worked as well as Arden thought, why had it been abandoned?

The boy voiced as much and Arden just shrugged. "Maybe the inventor thought it was too powerful to leave for anyone to discover and use. They probably thought the balance of life and death would be thrown off… But luckily I'm a very responsible person." Arden grinned widely.

Devon managed to hold his tongue despite the replay in his mind of Arden's last scientific endeavor. It had involved several casks of gun powder and the Bowerstone clock tower, and suffice to say it hadn't ended well. At least the tower had gotten away with little more than some charring… and maybe a few missing gears. Well, did a clock tower _really_ need four working faces?

"Now, are you ready to see it in action?"

"Are you actually going to try to bring something back to life?"

With a sigh, Arden grabbed a small box from a nearby workbench. "How else do you expect me to demonstrate?" She quickly opened the box and pulled out a very dead sparrow.

"Did you ki—"

"Sacrifices for science must be made. But don't worry, soon it will be up and flying and good as new!" Arden placed the bird inside the machine and stepped away, motioning Devon to do the same. Once the area was clear, Arden pulled a lever and small arcs of lightning, accompanied by a foul green smoke, lit the room with flashes of brilliant blue light.

Devon raised an arm in front of his face, hoping Arden wasn't just cooking the dead bird—though that would explain the smell produced by the machine.

"There!" Arden switched the machine off and watched with wide eyes as the machine opened. As the smoke cleared, Arden clapped her hands in delight and rushed towards the machine. "Devon! It worked! Look look!"

The boy waved the faint wisps of green smoke away as he stepped up to stand on the opposite side of the device. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the small bird twitching to life, dark eyes opening to fasten on Arden. It chirped faintly and attempted to stagger to its feet.

Arden scooped the sparrow into her hands and proceeded to smother it in a loose hug. "Oh, oh… it worked. Aren't you a lucky little birdy?" She smiled at the quickly recovering bird.

Devon tried to find something to say. Something that would express his complete disbelief at the impossibility of what had just happened.

"We should take it outside before it remembers how to peck," was what he settled for.

"Oh, Devon, isn't this exciting? I've reversed death! Do you know what this means?" Though apparently ignoring Devon's earlier comment, the girl was making a beeline for her front door while talking over her shoulder.

"I hope you aren't planning on reviving the entire cemetery. Death happens for a reason, Arden."

The girl shook her head and laughed. "Silly Devon, I know that. That would take much too long. Besides, most of the people buried out there would be a complete waste of my wondrous device."

At this point, the two were standing at the top of the stairs outside the mansion. Arden carefully set the sparrow on the banister before turning back towards Devon with a wide smile. "No, Devon, I've got a better idea. My machine is going to bring back the greatest Hero to walk Albion… The Hero of Oakvale."

--+--

So? Delightful, okay, or painful? Feedback is appreciated since I really want to work on improving my writing.

I'll try to put up the next chapter in a week... things should get more exciting then with the introduction of a new character. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Any person who has lived in a cemetery as long as the upbeat, somewhat eccentric, Arden will laugh at the supposed creepiness of said cemetery—even at night. For tales of undead and ghosts are only tales. Those buried are buried for good.

That is, unless one happens to possess a machine capable of bringing the dead back to life.

Walking down the cobbled lanes leading into the heart of the cemetery, Devon replayed the little speech Arden had just given him.

Arden had found the machine in her cellar several months ago. However, she hadn't said a word about it to anyone because she knew no one would find it exciting if she didn't know its purpose and how to work it. Others were just too uninspired to see the possibilities of a rusting pile of metal.

But not Arden. She spent the next months poring over the notes and schematics scattered around her cellar. And when she learned the machine's purpose, she was almost overwhelmed by the discovery. The fact that a man-made design made up of wires, metal, and other oddities could reverse the impossible—it was almost too much to take!

Then the possibilities entered her head. None of her family or friends would ever have to worry about death. If she had the inclination, Arden could bring back all those buried just outside her home.

Devon had cringed as that thought slipped her lips. Arden had a determined character, and if she had really wanted to, she _would_ have done just that—no matter the consequences.

Luckily, that idea was pushed out by one that was a bit saner. Arden had been spoon fed on tales of the Heroes of old. Her favorites always included the Hero of Oakvale and his various conquests. And who would be better suited to save Albion from the mysterious men in black who wandered the land kidnapping and murdering at will than the greatest Hero to ever live?

The location of the Hero's grave had been lost—if it had ever been known—when the Guild fell. Not content with the death of all Heroes, those civilians involved in the uprising destroyed all books stored within the Guild. But through careful searching, Arden had scrounged up the barest hints of a grave location.

When Devon questioned Arden about the hints, she had smiled in pride.

"Not everyone could read through half destroyed books and pull out useful information. But I did it. And it wasn't too hard once I found the right books. All I needed was one hint—and I found one in an old Bowerstone history work." She explained that the source mentioned both the Hero of Oakvale and Mayor Grey, his wife. While the book was heavily damaged, Arden managed to link the sentence fragments to make something useful. "The book had a page or two about a tomb that Lady Grey had specially built. I've never heard of Lady Grey being a compassionate woman; so who would she bother building a tomb for other than someone close to her—someone like a husband?"

For once, Devon admitted that it wasn't a bad conclusion on Arden's part.

"Alright, let's turn left here. The tomb should be somewhere this direction." Arden turned down an overgrown path, motioning Devon to follow her.

Devon looked over his companion and tilted his head slightly. "Have you noticed that the sparrow you brought back seems rather attached to you?"

Arden looked at the shoulder the tiny bird was sitting in surprise. "That's strange. Maybe the machine isn't working right yet… I was so excited I forgot to check the bird's awareness."

She reached up to grab the sparrow. The bird seemed to anticipate her intent and hopped onto her hand with a cheep. Arden passed a finger in front of the bird's eyes, nodding to herself as the bird's head followed it. Then she flicked the hand the sparrow was sitting atop to dislodge it. Without hesitation, the little bird opened its wings and saved itself from falling—promptly returning to Arden's shoulder.

"It can see and it can fly… and its body is functioning well enough that it hasn't yet died. Maybe the resurrection was like a second birth and now it thinks of me as its mother?" Arden shrugged her shoulders, "If there's nothing seriously wrong, I'm not going to worry about it."

"So if you bring the Hero back from the dead and he thinks you're his mother--?"

Arden laughed, "Well, wouldn't that be interesting?"

Devon gave Arden a concerned look. "I hope you're joking."

"Don't worry so much. Nothing is going to go wrong." She shot Devon a reassuring smile.

--+--

The pair stopped in front of one of the older tombs. Arden pulled out a small notebook and flipped to a folded page. While she silently double checked her notes, Devon moved closer to the tomb. The stone face of it was void of any names or dates—it could be anyone's grave.

"Alright, if south is that way," Arden pointed behind her, "and north is the opposite of south… Then this is it." She snapped the book shut. "This is the Hero's tomb."

Arden pushed her way into the icy interior of the building, the sparrow taking a perch outside while Devon followed on her heels. If the tomb was truly the resting place of a great Hero, one would not know it from the bareness of it. No weapons hung from the walls or lay propped against the walls. Neither were there piles of gold or armor or trophies of deeds long past. There was only a raised platform on which sat a heavy casket of marble.

"Devon, help me push this." Arden motioned to the lid of the casket as she positioned herself on one side of the thing.

The boy accommodated his friend by placing his hands alongside hers and giving the marble lid a push. Several strained minutes passed as the two tried to open the casket. Neither was the type to exercise their muscles—Devon's were due more to his genetics than any effort to improve his manliness—so there was some effort needed before the lid fell to the floor.

Silence followed the thud of the lid.

"Is that… really the Hero of Oakvale?" was the doubtful question Devon put to Arden.

"Let me see." Arden leaned in closer to examine the remains. She lifted away several folds of clothing to see the body beneath. "Well, just looking at the pelvis… it's pretty obvious that it's a male. The body is too decomposed to judge on anything more than it's skeleton, Devon."

"So we should ignore that the body looks so small, despite the fact that the Hero was famous for being a huge man?"

Arden pushed Devon away from her playfully, "Oh relax. I've done my research and if it's not the Hero, than we just end up with another subject to study the machine's effects on." She grabbed the upper half of the remains. "Now, help me get him back to my house."

Devon complied by taking a handful of half-disintegrated clothing—gagging at the sound of something other than cloth ripping. Arden was apparently unaffected as she pulled a burlap sack from a skirt pocket and started placing the various body pieces within it.

"We can't miss any pieces… it wouldn't do for us to bring him back without a femur or coccyx…"

Nodding his head, Devon averted his eyes from the bag's mixed up contents. Hopefully this was the last and only time he would have to touch a decayed body. Then again—knowing Arden—that wasn't a sure thing.

--+--

"Devon, step back over there. He might be disoriented when he wakes up, and we can't let him out of the room before we explain everything to him."

"I'm not sure how you expect me to restrain a Hero if he wants to leave."

Absorbed in setting up the machine, Arden shook her head. "It shouldn't come to that. You saw the bird," she motioned to where it sat on her shoulder, "it woke up very slowly. The Hero shouldn't be much different." She closed the machine's doors and stepped away. "And if he does try to run off for some reason, just take advantage of his disorientation and trip him or something. Now, get ready." A wide smile spread over her face. "You're about to witness the best thing to happen to Albion in 500 years."

Arden flipped the switch.

When the smoke cleared, the person sitting at the edge of the machine's surface was not a giant. Tall, he was. But he was also thinner than both Arden and Devon—nearly skeletal, though that wouldn't be surprising for someone fresh from the grave. He wasn't exactly a boy, but his soft features weren't those of a man, either. If one had to guess, perhaps his age would be placed between Arden's seventeen and Devon's twenty two years of age. He was most likely no younger, and certainly no older. But the Hero of Oakvale had lived well into late adulthood—so who was this mere boy?

"Arden?" Devon shot his friend a look that quite adequately stated what he thought of her careful research. "I'm not an expert on ancient Heroes, but I don't think he looks much like one."

"Devon, don't be so quick to judge." Arden waved a finger at him. "You know there aren't any surviving visual representations of the Hero of Oakvale. And the books about him were written after his death—so who knows if the descriptions are accurate at all?"

On seeing Devon's still doubtful face, the girl sighed and walked up to stand behind the pale boy they had resurrected. "At least let him explain who he is himself. Hey," she placed a hand on the boy's thin shoulder, "how are you feeling?"

"How do I feel?" He spoke slowly, his mouth only forming the words after much thought. He let his grey eyes travel upwards to stare at the sagging ceiling above. "How can I answer when I don't even... even know who I am?"

"Oh… well, it'll come to you in a moment, I'm sure." Arden bit her lip. Her arm fell away uselessly, as she moved to give the boy room.

Devon noted Arden's worried expression and guilt flooded him for letting all this slide without protest. Hadn't he doubted Arden's plans from the beginning—so why hadn't he put more effort into stopping, or at least delaying, them? It would have been worth it to spare Arden the unhappiness she now undoubtedly felt.

"Here, let me help you stand." Devon put a hand on the boy. "Maybe moving around will help clear your head."

"Oh, you think…" The boy finally focused his eyes and really saw Devon.

"Is something wrong?" Devon tilted his head to better see the boy's face.

Looking at him with dilated eyes, the boy could not seem to find words to answer Devon's question.

"Hey, it's alright. Relax. I've got you." Devon put his free arm around the boy to better support him. "Just lean on—"

Devon blinked. There was little else he could do with the boy's cold lips pressed against his.

--+--

Alright, so this is a week late... but I have a pretty valid excuse, honest! See, I caught the stomach flu last weekend and spent three days puking and sleeping. Not fun D: But this chapter got finished somehow, so all is well, more or less :P Next chapter is planned out to some degree, so hopefully _it_ will be done in a week. :P

Anyways, enjoy! Or if you don't, tell me why :D


End file.
